


let me be your fortress

by margaeries



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Future Fic, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1199224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaeries/pseuds/margaeries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her face was not the most beautiful that Sansa had laid eyes on; she was used to pretty, highborn girls dressed in courtly gowns and dripping with finery. Brienne had a crooked smile and broad shoulders, and short, straw-like hair. But her eyes were kind, and as blue as the Narrow Sea, and they made Sansa feel a flutter in her stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me be your fortress

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa-centric and rather introspective.  
> Written in honour of Femslash February, though it's purely derived from my Sansa/Brienne feelings, rather than any prompts.  
> All mistakes are my own, as I have no beta and it's been a while since I read ASOIAF. This takes place in an imagined future where Sansa has taken back and is rebuilding Winterfell, after being rescued by Brienne :)

The halls echoed with heavy silence, and Sansa found that she could not bear to walk them alone too often. This place, once a happy home where she had felt loved and cherished, was now a constant reminder of all that she had lost. Around every corner, she saw her mother’s ghost, her auburn hair streaming behind her as she chased Rickon to the dinner table. At every doorway stood her father, benevolently smiling as Bran read aloud to Maester Luwin, so pleased when he managed the difficult words.

When she glanced out of a window to peer down at the courtyard below, she saw Robb, her beloved Robb, wooden swords clacking as he played at duelling with Jon Snow, their faces gleaming with sweat and exertion and excitement. It stopped her heart, remembering how he had been; so young and full of spirit.

She didn’t even want to think about Arya; she did not have the strength to, not yet.

The memories were all too raw, too painful, like old wounds that hadn’t fully healed and opened again at the slightest provocation. It was not how she thought it would be, all those nights she had spent praying in the Vale, longing for the home she had left so long ago.

It helped to have new faces surrounding her, though. Some of the comforts of her old home may have been lost to her, but she had a few allies, and dare she say, friends. Namely, the blonde woman who had swooped in and rescued her, just when she was beginning to give up hope that such an option was available, just when she had thought the gods were finished with her.

Here was her reminder that the gods were still kind, that they were still capable of showing mercy. They had sent her Brienne when she had thought all hope was lost, they had sent her the knight she had always dreamed of, though not the one she had ever expected. There had been plenty of moments in the Eyrie where Sansa had considered doing unforgivable things, just to find a way out of the cage her life had become. She was glad that she had not been forced to take such drastic measures, thanks to Brienne's actions.  
It was getting harder to recognise the young woman who stared back when she gazed at her reflection each morning, and she was eternally grateful for this one small act. She had been paid a kindness and her reward for years of hardship was her sense of self. The world hadn't hardened her yet.

Lady Brienne’s battered armour and precious Valyrian steel were becoming fast fixtures in her life. Oathkeeper was always sheathed at her side, ready to defend Sansa at any given moment, and it offered her security the likes of which she had not known. Here was the knight from her songs, here was the noble and honourable protector of the innocent and downtrodden that Sansa had stopped believing in. She had found in Brienne what she thought did not exist.

Her face was not the most beautiful that Sansa had laid eyes on; she was used to pretty, highborn girls dressed in courtly gowns and dripping with finery. Brienne had a crooked smile and broad shoulders, and short, straw-like hair. But her eyes were kind, and as blue as the Narrow Sea, and they made Sansa feel a flutter in her stomach.

*

Trust came harder to her, however. Experience had taught Sansa that her trust should not be won so easily, and so at first it had been difficult. She had been wary of Brienne, this woman who fought like the deadliest of warriors, but bumbled around, gangly and awkward when she was not in battle, who smiled bashfully and blushed red, right to the tips of her ears.

It had been her lady mother who had eased the path between them. Who else? On the journey to Winterfell, after a few days of uneasy silences and stuttered conversations, Brienne had broached the subject.

“Forgive me if I speak out of turn, my lady, but back there in that inn, when you made those demands; it was as if I was travelling with Lady Catelyn once again.” There was a distant look in her ocean eyes, and so Sansa looked away, over to the trees instead.

She had heard so often, from suitors, from enemies, from Petyr ( _who had been both – Sansa shuddered at the memory_ ), that she was like her lady mother. Her looks, her manner, her brilliant hair, it all conjured up the radiance of a young and fair Catelyn Tully. But here was Brienne, who thought she shared her mother’s strength and forbearing, not just her beauty. The woman’s words sank like a stone into her chest, weighing her down but making her feel stronger, more rooted in her place.

Slowly, she took in these little details that Brienne gave to her about Catelyn Stark. Though they hadn’t spent a lot of time together, it was clear that Brienne had a deep and enduring respect and affection for her mother. It warmed her heart to find someone who could see beyond the titles and the restrictions she had shouldered. Brienne saw the woman Catelyn had been when she wasn’t being a mother and wife. So Sansa drank in every little story shared, like a woman gasping with thirst. Small sips at first, but then a desire to consume everything at once, until there was nothing left. She began to return the favour, recounting her memories of her mother to the woman who had given her back to her.

“I wish I had asked her more about Riverrun. She was the lady of Winterfell, but she had a whole past separate from us. It’s hard to think of her as a Tully, as having a life before she married.”

“I understand. And I don’t think she would consider her past a separate life, merely a continuation of her path. She was a mother above all else, Sansa, she adored you all with such a ferocity it astounded me at times. There was so much bravery and strength in her decisions, but she did everything out of love for you.”

If it had been anyone else, she would have been irked. To be told by a relative stranger that your mother loved you, it felt like an indulgence she should not have to put up with. _Of course she loved us, do you think I don’t know that? That I don’t miss her presence every day? That I hate how I never got to say goodbye_?

But it was _Brienne_ , and she found that she did not mind. You could always read Brienne’s intentions on her plain face, and it was strangely comforting, to be with someone who did not have a thousand strings tying you in place, a thousand webs of a different story woven around you. To be with someone who was so awkward, that they did not consider every single word five times before speaking them, but simply spoke them; that was a blessing in disguise.

*

Being back at Winterfell, it was inevitable that the memories would overwhelm her occasionally, and so the nightmares that plagued Sansa were of little surprise. But still she despised the way she would awake, shaken, tears falling unbidden from her eyes, her throat dry from screaming.

As with everything else, it was Brienne who came to her aid in the early hours, her shift crumpled and her eyes bleary with sleep.

“My lady! Are you unwell?” Sansa felt a cold and clammy hand go to her forehead, took solace in the cool touch.

“Water, I need water,” she croaked. Brienne rushed to fill her glass from the ewer on the desk. She hastily gulped it down.

“What is the matter?”

“It was a bad dream, nothing more. I’m sorry to disturb you from your sleep.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, my lady, I am here to serve you," Brienne said, her face as open and sincere as ever, her concern etched into her expression.

But how could she explain that it wasn't servitude she desired, that Brienne owed her nothing? Their bond was nothing like that of a master and servant. She needed Brienne so much, but mostly as a _friend_.

“Brienne? Do you- could you stay with me for a moment? I don’t want to be alone with the memories.” Her cheeks burned at the suggestion, but she pushed the words out regardless. She would not let another nightmare claim her, not this night, at least.

Brienne’s eyes widened, she looked a little flustered, but she composed herself before answering Sansa.

“If you wish so, my lady. I would be glad to be of any help to you.”

Sansa pushed back the covers, inviting the woman in. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach, the pleasant hum of anticipation, but for _what_ she didn’t know. It was enough for now. Brienne settled in next to her, a tangle of cold limbs, lying upright and rigid and staring at the ceiling.

“Did my mother ever speak of my father to you, Brienne?” Her voice was loud in the silence of the room, though she had spoken as quietly as ever.

Brienne turned to look at her, face scrunched up at the effort of recollection.

“I truly cannot recall, my lady, I’m sorry. We shared such little time together, and most of that time was spent travelling. Perhaps, she kept memories of Lord Stark to herself, for comfort in the quiet hours? That is what I would do,” she said, jumping a little when she felt Sansa huddle closer to her. It had been so long since she had embraced someone with any real affection, and the possibility of strong arms wrapped around her was too tempting to Sansa. Brienne was soft and hard all at once, and it intrigued her. She grabbed the other woman’s hand and placed it on her waist, giving her time to adjust. She held her breath, hoping that her instincts had been right, that Brienne had wanted and needed her affection as much as she craved it herself.

Eventually, she felt the whisper-light touch of Brienne’s hand stroking small circles on her lower back, and she smiled lazily.

“She always thought we couldn’t see, but when we were out of sight, my mother would reach up and kiss my father, and his face would light up with joy. They were so happy together; I always wished that I would find someone like that. A prince or a lord, someone who would look at me the way my father looked at my mother. I would give him sons and help oversee his household, and he would confide in me and I would love him,” she sighed. “Where did it all go so wrong, Brienne?”

Brienne stroked her hair soothingly, and Sansa found herself leaning into the touch. Her hands were so large, but she was so achingly gentle with her, in a way that no one had been before. It both comforted and excited Sansa, the butterflies returning with a flutter.

“It didn’t go _wrong_ , my lady, it just happened. I never thought I would be anything, but then I became a part of Renly’s Rainbow Guard. I never thought I would travel with Lady Catelyn, or deliver Jaime Lannister to King’s Landing, or come looking for you, but all of those things came to pass. None of us can say what our futures hold, we can only hope to deal with whatever comes our way. And you have done so, my lady, most admirably. ”

Her heart swelled with affection at the woman’s admissions. To be held in such high esteem by a woman like Brienne was surely a point of pride, and she revelled in the feeling of it. There was something bothering her, though.

“Please, Brienne, please call me Sansa. I think we are past such formalities. And I have been Alayne for so long, _too long_ , and I wish to be Sansa again.”

Her companion’s eyes glimmered with emotion, and she smiled. Brienne was such a rare soul, how was she real in this world full of horror, and men with cruel hearts?

“Certainly, my la- I mean, _Sansa_. It would be my honour. Now sleep, sweetling, you need to rest.”

“Only if you stay with me.” Her voice only trembled a little.

“ _Always_.” Sansa felt the other woman’s arms envelop her tighter, and she leaned into her caress, savouring the feel of her strong chest underneath her head, her heartbeat a steady, reassuring presence. She was finally at home.


End file.
